


With an Extra Shot of Dead

by Forward



Category: Magisterium Series - Holly Black & Cassandra Clare
Genre: Adventure, Calron, Explicit Language, F/M, Gore, M/M, Older Characters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Violence, Zombie AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4880161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forward/pseuds/Forward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would everyone had done differently, Call thought, if they had known the world was going to be overrun by the walking dead who happened to be hell-bent on eating their once-fellow people? </p><p>Or where Call is all by his lonesome in a zombie-infested world and is abducted by a group of kids his age who really shouldn't have possession of guns with attitudes like theirs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had to stop and ask myself before writing this: “Is it ever too early to write a zombie survival fic for a new fandom?” 
> 
> And the answer is no. It’s never too early. 
> 
> I tried to put a little more of personality in this story because I felt like I needed to challenge my writing in a way. Sorry if it's too much in advance (btw: whip = new ride, car)  
> Note: Everyone in this story is aged up to be at least 16-17 years old.

The sidewalk was covered in grunge and cracked with weeds pushing through, the yellow flowers drooped over. Bushes were overgrown and intruding into windows, doors, spilling out onto the road. Some had even engulfed a car or two, much to Call’s amusement. There was a Ferrari, that had been once upon a time driven by some top-notch, high-end citizen that was now the breeding ground for a bush (the citizen no doubt had fallen to something else that had fed on it). Call liked to think of it as an example of some twisted form of justice, or in a Robin Hood sense. Give back to the poor, but in this sense it was a bush taking justice. It worked for Call. 

The faces of the buildings were quickly deteriorating and succumbing to the weather, windows busted out, doors eroded and some hanging open limply. You could catch a glimpse of a couch, a dinner room table sitting empty (and would stay that way), a now-green glass still sitting out from where someone had last placed it. It was weird, Call thought. Would the person, knowing that the world was going to be overrun by the walking dead who happened to be hell-bent on eating their once-fellow people, still had left it sitting out or would have put it in the dishwasher where it belonged? Knowing his dad, he’d probably make him put it away. 

Thinking about his dad made Call’s heart pang against his rib cage, so he stopped. 

Call limped down the barren street with the anarchy bushes and open doors, hands shoving deep in to his pockets. It was starting to get cold - he’d have to go winter clothes shopping. Plus he needed to restock on food. He was running low on his main man, Chef Boyardee. 

With a huff, Call turned down the block to be met with a run-down Target. Carts were haphazardly thrown around in the parking, being kept company with long-abandoned and some dismantled cars. He picked his way slowly around the lot, pulling out his crowbar that he kept with him at all times, even at night. It was his first true love. He kept an eye out, slowly advancing to the front of the store, watching the face of the murky windows carefully. He hadn’t seen another person in this town for at least three months, but you could never be too safe. (True, he probably could’ve picked a better way than to go straight up to the front, but 1) too lazy and 2) he had a bad leg (also really lazy)) 

He pushed open the automatic door with a squeal that made him flinch and then left it slightly cracked. Easy escape, just in case. Call moved to the front of the registers, twirling the crowbar between his fingers. He found a cart and laid the metal across the child seat and began to push it, humming softly. He was just turning down the canned foods aisle when he saw it out the corner of his eyes. 

And his heart stopped.

There, sitting gloriously and not run-down or obviously broken, was an automatic cart.

With his heart now beating a galloping rhythm in his chest, he took his crowbar and shuffled closer. All four wheels? Check. Steering device? Check.

Power?

Call sat down in the seat, stretching his bum leg out. With a deep breath, he flipped the power switch. And a green light flickered on.

Check.

A wide grin stretched across Call’s face as he gave the cart a little ‘gas’, resisting a whoop as it lurched forward, trucking along diligently. These suckers could cover ground. 

It got even better when he pretended the abandoned carts left in the aisles were other cars and began to GTA his way through Target, using his crowbar as a fake-glock, even going as far as to threaten an over-sized teddy bear with lumped fur for some cash. Basically what every kid wanted to do if they were the only one in a store. 

He took to the food aisle, pushing the cans into his backpack, making sure to note the slowly-dwindling supply. He got in a good amount of cans that wouldn’t slow him down too much and moved down an aisle to grab some toilet paper. He wasn’t that low, but he just wanted to be in good stock. He did not want to go caveman and have to wipe his ass with a leaf (and if he had an irrational fear that it would be poison ivy, he wouldn’t mention it). 

All he had room left was to swipe a bulky looking jacket before gunning it to the front of the store. He was at least pushing five miles an hour on this bad boy. But when he got to the front of the store, he paused. Leave the cart for a maybe next time or ride home in style?

“Fuck it,” Call said, a little too loudly in the still air, and gassed it out of the store on his new whip. 

He made his way down the streets, cart rattling slightly over the cracked pavement, yet never let up. 

And then he heard the gurgling groan. Call rolled his eyes and turned his head to look at the figure stumbling towards him. It kept tripping over its own dead feet and uneven concrete, falling before pushing itself back up. Its flesh was decaying and split open, gray in color and just ugly. 

“You want some of this?” Call waved his crowbar threateningly. Or tried to as he sped away on his cart. The zombie muttered a deep groan and kept following on. 

“I’ll have you know I’m nothing to mess with, alright? I almost fucked up a bear in that store.” The zombie seemed unimpressed by his grunts and faceplants. 

Call sighed. It seemed luck just wasn’t his side. He stopped the cart and then went in reverse, turning around to start heading towards the reeking dead man. He held the crowbar out as if he was about to joust and even went so far as to shout an “En garde!” before whacking the knees (literally) from under the zombie. It fell to the ground groaning. 

That was the good thing about the long-dead. They were extremely slow as it was hard to move their decaying limbs and function. It wasn’t that hard to kill them individually - actually, it was extremely easy and kind of fun. It kept Call from getting too bored. But a bunch of them would overwhelm you easily. They’d be coming from every direction and, in your panic, you’d make a dumb decision with the end result being your face as a tasty snack. 

Call circled around the zombie in his cart, avoiding the black fluid seeping from its legs. “Gross,” he commented. 

The zombie groaned in resignation, arms moving feebly, grasping for Call, who promptly ran over its fingers (or what was left of them). 

“You fought well, brother,” Call whispered, squinting as if it wasn’t the sun in his eyes but tears, as he swung the metal over his head and into the zombie’s. It gurgled out one last groan before lying still. 

Shrugging, unconcerned anymore about his fallen ‘comrade’, Call turned the cart back in the direction of his shelter. And stopped. 

Standing in the middle of the road, was an Asian-looking boy around his age, and he was pointing a gun right at him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a set schedule for updating this story, but I've gotten good feedback, so I thought I might as well as try. I'm going to be pretty busy this next month so don't expect a lot of updates.  
> Also, please tell me if there's any mistakes in this chapter. I tried to review it, but the more I did that, the more I began to hate reading what I wrote, and if I delete it, who knows when I'll ever update again.  
>    
> Warning for this chapter: blood and mild gore, Call's sass

“Put your hands up. Drop the crowbar.” The boy said, the pistol in his hands trained very precisely on Call’s head.

This guy already sounded like a jerk. What a way to go. First time Call had seen another person in nearly three months (or maybe three months, his One Direction calendar was kind of too grimy to make out). But he didn’t really have an option when all you were armed with was a piece of metal that was pretty good at killing zombies, but a guy with a gun? Not so much.  So he did what he was told to, wincing slightly as the crowbar panged loudly on the ground, sound echoing off the face of the buildings.

“Backpack too.  Keep your hands where I can – _where I can see them."_ The dark haired boy’s grip visibly tightened on the gun when Call reached around the front of the bag. He immediately retracted his hands and put them back to their original place, above his head and palms out.

“Look – chill. It’s broken on the front, so I have to unclip it – okay? You can walk around to watch me if you want. I don’t have any more weapons.” The boy looked skeptical, but he nodded his head once.

Call, mentally praying he wasn’t going to get shot, reached behind himself where the backpack was clipped into itself to keep the bottom from tearing anymore than it was, and then slowly slid it over his shoulders and onto the ground beside the crowbar. The cans jostled and clanged inside.

“Anything else?”

“Besides some deadly toilet paper, no. Which you’re probably running low on,  because you look like shit-“

Call’s Oscar-worthy comeback was cut short by a familiar deep groan. Rolling his eyes, he turned to where a slumped, drunkenly weaving figure was emerging from a dark side alley. The man had probably been dressed nicely the last day he was died. A ripped tie hung from an eroding neck, a stained and dirt coated dress shirt nearly matching the graying of his skin. Bones were poking out of his dress pants.

Grunting, Call lifted himself out of the cart and bent down to pick up his crowbar.

“Hey! What’re you doing?  Put that down.” Call side-eyed the boy, raising an eyebrow at the shakiness of his voice. He wasn’t even looking at Call – his eyes were trained on the zombie but the gun still pointing at him.

“What’re you going to do? Shoot him? If you do that, you’ll alert every one of them in the entire city.  Look, we can play hostage after I take care of this like a big boy. Okay?” Call tried to go for a winner smile, but from the look on the other’s face, it disappeared quickly. Whatever.  

He twirled the crowbar expertly, shifting all of his weight off his bad leg as the zombie lurched forward to him. He would take one step forward and three steps to the side as he struggled to retain his balance. Gangly arms were outstretched and it almost made Call laugh. The poster child for a zombie.

“C’mon, come to daddy,” Call cooed, lifting the metal above his head in a baseball stance, twirling it a little.

The zombie gurgled.

When he got close enough, Call glanced to where the other boy was now watching with a look of amused interest, the gun lowered to his side. Of course, when the actual threat appears, he puts the gun away. Typical.

Call shied back from the zombie’s grasping fingertips, pushing the crowbar against his chest to keep him at bay. He might as well as show off. He expertly avoided the zombies gnashing teeth and its slow, jerky lunges for him, tapping the crowbar roughly at its misshapen head. But Call being Call, got bored quick. So with no warning he swung the metal hard into the zombie’s head, a wet _thwack_ startling a few birds into the sky.

The zombie went down just like the first one, blood oozing from his head that was cracked open wide. There was nothing left inside except a black gush.

“Is that how you kill all of them? Like that?” Call turned to look at the boy. He looked disgusted, eyes wrinkled upwards.

“Not everybody has a gun. Or wants one.” Call grunted, flicking his crowbar to get the excess blood off.

“Is there anymore of you?” Great. The gun was up again.

“I think you should be asking him that, not me,” Call said, poking the decaying figure with his threadbare shoe.

“Stop playing games. You’re annoying me. If I get tired of you and you don’t give me what I want, I’m going to shoot you. Do you understand that?”

Call did understand. But he didn’t feel scared. Not because the boy was holding the gun like it was a live snake and he had no idea how to tame it. Not because he was looking at Call with an underlying plead to listen to him because they both know he really wouldn’t and probably couldn’t pull the trigger. But because would it be so bad – to die. Compared to sickness, starvation, natural elements, zombies. Would being shot through the head, painlessly, be so bad?  It would definitely be better than being a chew toy for a dead man.

Call shook his head, trying to physically loosen the thoughts from his mind, but they plagued him. Why even try anymore? Soon the supermarkets would be stripped from food and he’d have to move on. And he’d move on and survive because that’s what Call did, but would it be worth it? Worth it to live for nothing but a lonely death in the end. At least, if he died now, he’d be within the presence of another human being. Even if that human being was a total asshole. 

“Yes, I understand that. What would you like me to do, your highness?” Call heard himself say, as if from a distance.

“Drop the crowbar again. Gently this time, the sound probably attracted it. And walk towards me with your hands above your head.”

Call felt oddly like he was on an episode of C.O.P.S as he did just as the boy asked, but when he started walking, the boy jerked back.

“What?” Call said, frowning.

“Your leg-. You’re limping. Why?”

“Bad leg. Been like this my whole life. Or maybe a zombie did it and I’m turning as we speak, but I won’t let you know that so when you abduct me I can eat your brains without a struggle. It could go both ways.”

“You’re pretty annoying.”

“And you’re pretty ugly.” Call mentally fist pumped in triumph. “Now that we got the obvious out of the way, I’d say we get down to business. What’s your name?”

The boy blinked twice, as if he was surprised Call had even asked.

“Jasper. I’m Jasper deWinter.”

“I’m Call. Nice to me you deJackass.” This time, Call fist pumped so Jasper could see how proud he was of himself. He had three months of insults packed inside his body that were itching to come out.

Jasper rolled his eyes at him, and then jerked his head. He might’ve been trying to look cool, but he just looked dumb.

Call began to limp forward again, hands above his head, eyes locked on Jasper’s, when they both heard it – and went dead still.

Groaning. But a lot of it. Like, more than one sources for the groaning. Like a continuous hum with different pitches and timings. And shuffling. A lot of shuffling and tripping and muffled thumps and then more groaning. A horde.

Call and Jasper locked eyes again, one breath, two breaths, before Call whirled around and scooped up his crowbar and backpack. The cans jostled a bit making him wince. He grabbed a few rolls of toilet paper and shoved them in the bag, hoping they’d muffle the clanging. If at least a little bit.

When Call turned back around, heart pounding and leg already aching from the excitement, he was expecting to see Jasper deWinter gone, but instead, the boy had moved closer to Call, a look of pure fear on his face.

He had no idea what he was doing.

And Call knew that being with someone like that could get him killed. Someone who didn’t know what it took to be alive or starve a few days or eat in rations. Who drank dirty water or went a few weeks without a bath. It was dangerous to associate yourself with someone clueless of how to not die, but Call couldn’t find it in his disgruntled heart to leave the boy. He had a soft spot for lost things.

“C’mon, we need to get out of here. Do you have a place?” Call asked, setting down the road in a brisk lope away from the groaning. Jasper quickly joined him, knuckles white around the gun.

“No – yes. Yeah, there’s more of us down in a boarded up gas station outside of this town. A mile or two away. We needed more food and med supplies so I got the shortest stick, and –“ 

“I asked if there’s more of you, not your life’s story,” Call cut in, turning his head constantly to sweep for any incoming zombies. Jasper grew quiet. He didn’t look angry though, more extremely nervous and pale.

“We’ll head there. I’ll bring you to drop you off, but then after that, I’m gone. Got it? This is my town. If you need something, you’re going to have to pay to get it, understood.” Call tried to mimic how his dad sounded when strangers would try to steal the food from the supermarkets. He’d push the barrel of the shotgun right between they’re eyes and play with the trigger, his voice a strange steady that could send shivers down any man’s spine. From the look on Jasper’s face, it had worked.

Call took a sharp turn off of the street down an alley that was so narrow, Jasper was forced to run behind him. And then out back on the street, then down another alley. It was a jigsaw puzzle – one that Call had memorized and knew all the escapes and hiding places. One last left and suddenly they were out of the town and on the edge of the surrounding forest, a cracked road plagued with rusting cars leading out. It went to another town, Call knew that, and there was a gas station halfway there, nestled in a dip in the forest.

Jasper seemed more relaxed once out of the town, shoving the pistol into the waistband of his pants.  “It’s this way.”

“Hold up, I’m waiting for someone,” Call said, sliding the bag off his shoulders and began to dig around in the front pocket.

“Someone? You said that you were the only one.” Suddenly, Jasper looked extremely defensive, hand gripping the gun in his waistband again. His eyes were shifting between Call and the town.

“I am the only one. This is someone is a part of me.” Call didn’t care if he sounded dumb or straight out of a chic flic. He brought the whistle to his lips, took a deep breath, and blew. No sound came out, but Call just blew harder.

“Hey, quit—“

Abruptly, a dark shape lunged out from an alley, ears pushed forward and tail wagging. Call heard Jasper gasp and forced down a grin. Yeah, Call was lame but he had a badass pet.

“You tamed a wolf?” Jasper’s voice was incredulous.

“Hell yeah I did. Jasper meet Havoc.” The wolf, Havoc, let out a grunt and plastered himself against Call’s leg, practically begging to be scratched. Which Call did happily.

“Now that we’re all acquainted, take me to your leader, Mr. deWinter,” Call said, slinging the backpack back around his shoulders.

Jasper looked like he was torn between punching Call and scared that Havoc would rip his throat out. But without a word, he spun on his heel and began to walk down the road, which Call promptly shoved him to the side.

“What the—“

"Are you an idiot? You should never walk on the road.” Lesson One of Call’s Survival Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse. “Stick to the inside of the forest,  just to where no one can see you, but you can see them.”

“But, that’s where the zombies are.”

“Exactly, dipshit. Good God, it’s like you’ve never dealt with them before. Just keep the gun out and stick with me.”

Call’s leg hurt. From ducking beneath vines, swinging his bad leg over fallen logs, limping over uneven terrain, it was suffice to say that Call was beginning to regret helping Jasper. Especially since Jasper loved to complain. And seemed to be warming up to Havoc, which annoyed Call more than anything.

He would give the wolf pointed stares as if to try and tell him that he was supposed to make Call look like a total thug, and to stop licking Jasper’s hand every chance he got.

The sun was beginning to dip lower into the sky, the trees casting long shadows and crickets beginning to start their evening song when the gas station came in view. Jasper immediately picked up his pace, shoulders pushed back, a bounce in his step.

Call however, hung behind, and stopped just as Jasper broke from the tree line and was loping up to the boarded up gas station. Metal and wood were drilled over the windows, the once-glass door now replaced with something that looked like belonged on a bank vault at one point. Jasper disappeared around the back, probably to a secret door they used to get in and out.

Havoc sensed Call’s discomfort at the situation, and nosed at his hand. He’d fulfilled what he told Jasper he was going to do. Just drop him off and he’d go back. And Jasper seemed more than able to take care of his self at this point. But a nagging curiosity bit at his heels that propelled him forward, tracing Jasper’s foot steps around back. Were there any adults? What if his dad was one of them, worried sick about Call. What if there was food besides Chef Boyardee and cold soup and warm water? If Call turned around now, he would never find out.

So he rounded the back of the gas station and found Jasper standing there, holding what looked like a vent open. When he saw Call, he groaned.

“I was hoping you’d just leave. Great. Come on, they’re inside.” And then he promptly shoved himself through the vent and Call could hear his feet hit the feet on the inside. Call turned to where Havoc was, ears perked up and tail wagging.

“C’mon, boy. You first.”

Shoving a dog through a vent was difficult. Call kept getting whacked in the face by his tail, and Havoc kept trying to turn around to lick his face. Shoving himself with a bad leg was even worse. When Call finally managed to pull himself through, Havoc had already taken to chewing what looked like a gardening glove.

It was a small storage room, long emptied out of anything that could be of use. A door was set in the far wall and it was cracked open. Voices were spilling through.

Suddenly, Call’s heart was in his throat, panic pulsing in his veins. What had he done? He’d followed a boy that had threatened to kill him into a place he wasn’t familiar with and was now about to be in front of a group. Call could take Jasper, but a group? If Call could base anything from meeting the Asian teen, it was that his friends probably weren’t the nicest of people. And what if they had more guns? What if they were those kind of people that lured survivors into their lair, and –

Call’s inner mantra was cut off by Havoc whining and pressing his large head into his side, tongue attacking his curled fist. Taking a deep unsettling breath, Call limped forward and pulled the door, open, heart beating an irregular beat in his chest.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Call could vividly remember the first time he had ever seen a zombie.

He’d been in the back yard, plotting the demise of an intruding ant hill, armed at the ripe age of fifteen with a lighter and bug spray. It was in the middle of summer, cicadas whirring and sun blazing high in the sky, warming the back of Call’s neck. He had just shoved a stick in the middle of the dirt empire, watching with grim satisfaction as the small bodies scurry out when he heard it, something he had heard so many times before, but still not quite like this one: a groan.

It sounded human. Call had made groans like that all the time. When he had to go to school despite coughing profusely into his hand, when he stubbed his toe on the coffee table, when he heard his dad say the dreaded word that stared with “ch” and ended in “res”. Nothing to tip Call off that the groan belonged to a recently deceased person who should be six feet under, yet was walking around with the setting in its mushy brain stuck on one gear: keep eating.

Sparing the ants, Call straightened up, homemade flamethrower in hand. He moved over to the far fence that linked their yard to the neighbor’s. Another groan sounded out, this one with a bit more diaphragm action that made Call hesitate before pressing his eye in the space between the planks.

Nothing but green grass, half of a browning bird fountain, and the other far fence. The typical, cookie-cutter neighborhood backyard. No source of the groan. But Call, if anything else, was a curious boy who usually tended doing things that most likely weren’t in the best interest for him (or other beings as example of the ant hill).

Pocketing the lighter and bug spray, Call stretched up and grabbed the top of the wooden fence, and hauled himself up, feet bracing against the planks for support and friction. The yard looked the same as it had before, but this time Call could see it in its entirety.

Maybe he had imagined the groan. Maybe, he –

A resounding _thwack_ on the wooden fence shook Call to the ground, grunting as he fell in the dirt. He could see a shape of a man that had not been there before through the slits. And then, hands crusted in something unidentifiable, grabbed the top of the fence and began to pull himself over, legs thudding clumsily on the wood as if he had forgotten how to climb. He had forgotten though, Call thought, looking back on it. He had forgotten how to speak, breathe, identify who he loved, what he had loved, how to live.  But Call at that time didn’t know that.

All he knew was that a man was climbing his fence to trying to get to him. And he had a pocketful of a lighter and bug spray. 

Scrambling back and up, Call ripped the items from his pockets, and held them aloft and pointed at the man. But the thing that climbed over the fence wasn’t a man, but the shell of a man who had just got done eating the brains of his wife, and now thought Call made a suffice dessert.

Call didn’t know what to do.  What do you do when a guy who’d you only saw once or twice when you went to your mailbox grunting like an animal and pulling himself over the fence, eyes a strange kind of glassy. The can of bug spray suddenly seemed very worthless.

He sucked in a lungful of air and bellowed out, “Dad _! Dad_!”

The man was over the fence and in the yard now, a vine of drool dripping from his chin, teeth stained and snapping.

The memory still haunted Call at times. The image of his dad beating his now ex-neighbor’s head in with a pan, his dad’s urgent voice, throwing up on the kitchen floor and then not having time to clean it up. He’d jerk awake, the groan still resounding in his ears, heart thumping unevenly.

It was beating the same then as it was now.

His dad had always been paranoid, so they got on the road well before all hell broke loose. Call always had the same mantra drilled into his head: _Ration, triple check surroundings, know where you’re sleeping at night, and never stay in a group._

So far he had broken nearly every rule, and Call was really beginning to feel the weight of the decisions on him. He flexed his hands and winced at the clamminess.

The door creaked open, revealing a dusty interior with ransacked shelves illuminated by the small, fractured light that escaped in between the boards covering the front of the store. Dust twirled through the air in the dying light, catching Call’s attention for a moment, before he noticed the others in the room.

Jasper was sitting on the counter, elbow resting on the busted open cash register. He was picking at his teeth with his thumb, but Call could see the smirk behind his knuckles.

Remember when Call had a heart that beat normally and didn’t make him want to throw up? He didn’t either.

There were other people in the room. Two girls and three boys. And they all had their head turned towards them, and with a start, Call realized that they had something else trained on him: guns.

Call was beginning to feel like he had been left out of some kind of loop. Where had everyone gotten these guns? Was there some kind of rule that once people start eating each other, dead or not, guns were deemed as a necessity? His dad had had (no, _has)_ a gun, but never used it. Just threatened people with it. But maybe that was just as bad as using it. There was never anything good or righteous about wanting to hurt someone.

Havoc snarled, black fur rising on the back of his neck, legs stiff. His white teeth glinted in the dying light, making him seem much more terrifying than he really was. They might have guns but he had a wolf. Call would have to say he’d one-upped them on the coolest weapon this time.

“Keep your hands where we can them. Drop the bag. And tell your dog to stand down,” a voice said, thankfully not Jasper’s. If Call had to be ordered around by that stuck-up Asian one more time, he might just show them what Havoc could really do. Mainly with his teeth. Around any appendage that belonged to Jasper, hopefully his head.

But Call did what he said, shushing Havoc and telling him to lie, hands lifted parallel to his head. A boy moved forward, taller than Call and a lot bigger. His hair was a fire of blonde in the light behind him, his shoulders wider and face much more angular than Call’s. His green eyes were sharp and intelligent, fierce in their intentions. He would probably be that kid you saw in movies that was the star football player and got the girl and had a fast car. But the world had ended so, Call thought haughtily, they were equals. Even if this guy was handsome and probably could beat him in an arm wrestle.

The boy moved forward, then behind Call, and then his rough hands were grabbing his wrists and pinning them behind his back. A _zzzzzip_ sounded through the air, and with dread filling his stomach and his heart beating a screaming panic in his chest, Call realized that he was being handcuffed and taken prisoner. It was all happening so fast. He felt his face flush, and the others in the room lowered their guns.

His dad would be disappointed.

Havoc began to whine, ears pushed forward in concern. He didn’t know what was going on, yet he still stayed where he was. The boy moved from behind Call, another zip-tie in his hands. He moved down on Havoc. _He’s going to tie his mouth shut_ , Call thought. You could tie up Call all you wanted to, but you didn’t touch his wolf.

“Get your hands off of him—“ Call snarled, taking a step forward.

The cool barrel of a gun pressed on the underside of his jaw. He could feel the biting metal when he swallowed. It was suddenly very hard to breathe.

“He’s not—won’t hurt anybody. I promise. Please—just – just don’t tie him up,” Call pleaded, voice cracking slightly. Everyone else in the room suddenly seemed like they were much more interested in pulling out blankets and cans, heads turned away from Call. Jasper, however, grinned at him wildly, and Call cursed the cracking in his voice.

The blond boy regarded Call for a few moments, before pocketing the zip-tie and gun, and grabbing his arm, pushing him sternly behind the counter, making him sit with his back towards it. The peeling wood dug into his back. His view was the grimy shelves full of disarrayed tobacco products. Another too-tight zip-tie around his ankles and Call was done. Jasper peeked over at him from his seat before jumping off, boots thudding on the linoleum floor. The other boy glanced at him one last time, before pulling the gun from his waistband and disappearing from around the counter.

Havoc slid over to him, curling his body across Call’s. His ears were flat against his head and he was regarding the hard plastic around his ankles and wrists with a certain hatred.

“It’s alright, boy,” Call whispered. But it wasn’t. He was with a group of people he didn’t know, bounded and unable to move, and he hadn’t eaten anything that day. His dad would be _really_ disappointed.

He could hear them conversing about him across the store, nothing he could make out. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He didn’t really want to know how they were going to dispose of him. Or worse, Havoc. Maybe as a dying wish he’d request the freedom of his wolf. Maybe he would go find his dad and bring it to his son’s probably decaying body. If there was still a body.

The inside of the room was beginning to darken and dim more, casting Call in a dark shadow where he could barely make out Havoc in the darkness. How badly he wanted to rub his hands over his ears and through his fur. How badly he wanted to be back in the hole he called home in a broken elevator that he had barred the doors shut. How bad he missed his blanket and soft pillow and dumb little wooden figurines he had whittled using the pocketknife his dad he gave him. How terribly, horribly, heart-wrenchingly did he miss his dad.

His dad wouldn’t have helped Jasper. His dad wouldn’t have gone inside. His dad wouldn’t be tied up and trying not to cry like a baby while reading the brands of cigarettes and wondering which ones caused cancer quicker.

A lone tear seeped down his cheek and Havoc licked it away, eyes worrisome. Call pressed his face into the cool fur and allowed himself a few more tears before straightening up. He’d have to get out of here. He’d have to. And get something to eat. His stomach was killing him. A growl rumbled out that made Havoc cock his head to the side.

Call didn’t know what was going on, but he knew it was dark now behind the counters, and that the group had lit some small candles to see. The murmuring wasn’t as loud, but he heard a few laughs. It was as if he wasn’t even there. There was scraping on the bottom of cans, muffled jokes, and rustling of clothes or blankets.

There were footsteps and then a dark haired boy peering over the side with a sh—t-eating grin and a can.

“Hey buddy, hungry?” Jasper asked, shaking the can little.

There was a growl, both from Call’s stomach and Havoc.

“I take that as a yes. Here, catch.” And then he promptly dropped the can. Maybe it was the lack of food or the lack of being able to use his hands, but Call simply continued to stare upwards. It thudded against his left eye and then bounced on to the floor.

Call let out a yelp and ducked the already bruising side of his face into his shoulder.  The pain was a sharp sting, throbbing with pain. Havoc looked torn between biting off a few of Jasper’s fingers and licking Call’s face.

“Hope you like ravioli,” Jasper said smugly, dropping down a can opener that bounced off Call’s shoulder and skittered over to the tobacco shelves. And with one last grin, he disappeared. Call drew up his knees and buried his face in him, trying to clamp down the shuddering hunger in his stomach.

Havoc pushed his head in the space between his chest and his thighs and lay wedged there, paws splayed underneath his legs. If Call had been alone, he’d probably would have had a meltdown. Worse than the one he was currently having anyways.

 _If only I had listened to my dad_ , Call thought angrily. _If only I hadn’t try to be the good guy. He told me to never play the good guy, because look where it gets you. Good guys always have enemies._

He should’ve let that zombie rip open Jasper and then stolen his gun. Maybe then he would be in the loop.

His eye was already swelling close, the sensitive skin puffed. The thought of the can that now lay beside him sent a surge of hunger through him, but he kept it at bay. He’d gone longer without eating. He’d probably gone longer than anyone here. They’d all probably ate three course meals, with napkins tucked into their shirts and legs crossed at the ankles.

Call hated them. He hated Jasper and the blonde boy with their guns and zip-ties and cans of food. If only his dad was here.

There was the soft squeal of metal peeling back that made Call lift his head in curiosity. His eye was swollen closed now; a muddy yellow spreading across his cheek and up his brow. The blond boy was crouching in front of him, opened can in one hand and a small candle in the other. Call hadn’t heard him at all. He was probably too immersed in his self-pity to notice.

When the boy noticed his eye, he frowned slightly, making him look strangely older than he really was. Call could tell that was a face for laughter, not worry.

“My name is Aaron,” he said, pulling out a plastic spoon and dipping it in the ravioli.  He sat down fully, crossing his legs. He placed the can and candle between them and clasped his hands in his lap.

Call stared at him.

“Hello.”

Call didn’t say anything.

Aaron tilted his head to the side and regarded Call for a moment or two, pursing his lips. “Are there anymore of you?”

Call shook his head slowly.

“Do you have any weapons? Besides him.” He pointed a finger at Havoc.

“I have a crowbar,” Call said, suddenly sounding very dumb and archaic at the sight of the sliver of metal in Aaron’s waistband.

A small smile twitched across the other boy’s face. “Anything to get the job done, I guess. So it’s just been you and—“

“Havoc. His name is Havoc.” Aaron raised his eyebrows but said nothing else, instead, he leaned towards Call.

“Now, I’m going to untie you. You won’t punch me in the face will you?”

When he got the affirmative from Call, he reached above Call and produced a pair of scissors, cutting off the ties around his wrists and then his ankles. Havoc seemed pleased with this outcome and must have guessed that Aaron was a good guy, so he licked his outstretched wrist. Aaron smile crookedly.

Call wanted to snap at Havoc that he had just been tied up by that same guy for over an hour. He wanted to snap at Aaron for treating him like a child and like he didn’t have the concept of how to behave. He wanted to cry because his eye hurt, he missed his dad, and he was now faced with being stuck overnight with the group. But what he did was snatch the can up so fast that Aaron jerked back, and began to shovel the cold ravioli down.

Aaron watched him for a few moments, before leaning over and pulled a blanket and a pillow from the counter. “You’ll sleep away from the group tonight. Don’t make me regret trusting you,” he said, pushing himself up and walking away.

Without the candle, it was pitch black again. But this time it was comforting. Call rolled himself in the blanket and pushed his throbbing eye into the stale pillow, breathing deeply. Havoc laid against his back, already falling fast asleep.

With a now something in his stomach, he closed his eyes and fell fast into a restless sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The morning came soon. Call cracked open his eyes (eye, technically), and rolled over, much to the annoyance of Havoc. It was quiet in the gas station, broken gently by soft breaths and rustling.

The left side of his face throbbed painfully as he pushed himself up, neck and shoulders sore. He rolled his head to the side and winced as the tight muscle strained. Havoc let out a huff and pushed his head back underneath the blanket, tail wrapping around himself.

The air was cool with the morning light. Goosebumps surfaced on his arms and legs, and his nose suddenly felt very cold. Call, trying not to groan, rolled up to his knees, twisted his back until it popped loudly, and then pushed himself to his feet. He’d gotten used to sleeping in his sneakers.

The gas station was eerie in the quiet, early hours. The ransacked shelves were either standing in disarray or pushed up against the boarded windows and doors. In the middle of the floor, however, was figures bundled up in the blankets and pillows, bags laid specifically in the center of them all. Including his own bag.

He had taken a few steps forward, no real plan in mind on how exactly he was going to sneak and get is bag without getting shot in the back, when he saw him.

Jasper had his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, hunched over as he peered through the cracks between the boards. It was his time to be on watch. What he was looking at, Call didn’t care. It was easier dealing with dead people than it was with the living.

Slowly, Call advanced across the store, thanking the deteriorating condition of his sneakers for once as he silently walked. The closer he got, however, the angrier he felt. It was a tight knot in his stomach, coiling and hot. He ground his teeth together, forcing back the urge to rip off a shelf and break it over Jasper’s head.

Call must have made some kind of noise because Jasper jerked around, eyes wide. But once he saw who it was, he smirked and leaned back, body language screaming arrogance.

“How’s your eye, cripple?”

Maybe it was the lack of sleeping comfortable, the stinging in his eye, the panging in his now empty stomach, the exasperation and stress eating away at him. Maybe it was the flashbacks of a baseball coach shaking his dad, mouthing the words “liability” and pointing to his forever stiff leg. Maybe it was the fact that he had saved Jasper’s life, and all he had to show for it was a bruised and swollen face and an acidic boil in his stomach.

Call snapped.

With a snarl, Call lunged forward, wrapping his hands around the other boy’s shoulders. All Jasper could manage was a small squeak before Call slammed him into the ground. Dropping himself onto Jasper’s chest, he used his knees to pin down his arms.

“What the he—“

Call punched him. It was a solid punch, a deep thud as his knuckles collided against Jasper’s face. A sharp biting pang of satisfaction settled over his anger. And then he punched again.

Jasper was wriggling underneath him, letting out a muffled shout, but Call didn’t care. He didn’t care anymore. His dad was either dead or had abandoned him; he was inevitably going to die either by killing himself or a zombie. He just didn’t care. His knuckles were stinging and Jasper’s face was beyond bloody, but he didn’t care.

Call managed to land one last punch before there were hands grabbing him, hauling him backwards and onto the ground. His head collided heavily with someone’s knees, and he heard Havoc snarling and growling. Someone yelping, sleepy shouts for “what’s going on?”, and large lands pressing Call against the hard floor. Aaron loomed over him.

“What the hell happened?” A girl cried, crouching down beside Jasper and pressing a napkin to his bloodied face. Her dark hair was braided evenly, and she was pretty, with full lips and dark eyes.

“I don’t know – is he alright?” Aaron grunted, his knee pressing sharply into Call’s thigh.

Distantly, Call hoped that they’d just get it over with. Just a bullet through his brain, and he was done. No more endless nights with a starving stomach, no more giving Havoc the last of his food, no more waiting for a dad that wasn’t going to come back. He should’ve known. Everyone left Call anyways. He was a liability, just a cripple with a refusal to die when it would just be better off for everyone else.

And that’s when Call felt hot tears slip down his face. And if he wasn’t always embarrassed enough.

“Get on your feet,” Aaron’s voice was low in his ear suddenly, hands like a vice around his arm as he yanked Call upwards. Everyone was standing in a semi-circle, hair in disarray and guns in hand. Jasper was still on the ground, but sitting up, face hidden in a stained napkin.

Aaron dragged Call away, where he saw Havoc standing stiffly, tail between his legs. It was a physical ache to see his best friend like that. All he wanted to do was run his fingers through his fur and whisper about how it was going to be okay, but now, it wasn’t. Call had ruined it for the both of them.

He was shoved into the room with the vent that led outside and the door behind them slammed shut.  Aaron leaned his back against the door, arms crossed over his chest. A bone in his jaw was grinding.

“What do you think I’m supposed to do with you now?” Despite his angry demeanor, his voice was ice.

Call had no answer.

“I get it, alright? Jasper’s an asshole. We all know that. You think you’re the first one to take a swing at him? The difference between them-“ he jabbed a finger in the direction of the others-“and you is that _we don’t know you.”_

Call flexed his now-sore hands. His anger was ebbing away, leaving him with a hollow chest and a fuzzy head.

“They’re going to want to get rid of you, you do understand that, right—“

“Then do it,” Call spat.  He was tired of listening to this pompous boy who thought just because he had a nice jawline, he could assert his pheromones over Call or some stupid alpha relationship.

“I saved that kid. Has he told you that? I saved him because I thought he needed help. The one time that I go out of my way, despite everything I’ve ever been taught, and this is what I get. You think I care about dying? You think all of you, with your fancy guns and video game styled survival strategies, scare me? You’re right. None of you know me, and I plan to keep it that way.” Call breathed heavily, hands tight against his sides.

Aaron was regarding him with an unknown expression. With a weathered sigh, he dragged a hand down his face. Call realized how old he seemed at that moment. How tired and exhausted this other boy was.

“We’re going to work this out, alright? There’s no need for anymore violence in a world like we live in now.”

Call was going to open his mouth and make a snide comment regarding Jasper, when the words died in his throat but a cry from the other side of the door.

_“Get down! They’re everywhere!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s probably plenty of spelling errors in this chapter, but after working on it for so long, I felt like if I looked at it one more time, I was going to delete the entire thing (a common theme for me). Sorry for the long wait on this chapter, school sucks. Hopefully next chapter actually has some interesting content. Thank you to everyone who has left some feedback!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i haven't update this fic in two years - sorry is all i've got.  
> but seriously, i am sorry i might have possibly been too concerned with high school and then college, but when i say i always thought about this fic, i'm being honest. i hated the idea of it being abandoned and so, 2 years later, i've come back to at least finish it.  
> also, i know what happens in canon but i'm ignoring it. tbh i haven't read past the second book because i haven't had time lol  
> idek if anybody still reads this fic! but i might as well as update it!

Call was trying his best to not blush, thank you very much.

Aaron had practically body slammed him to the ground, one arm around his back and the other clamped over Call’s mouth like he had planning screaming to the flesh-eating for zombies for help. Call shot him several annoyed glances and when he tried to pry Aaron’s very big and rough hand from his face, he’d only pulled Call closer.

So, yes, Call was technically flushing because a very cute boy was pinning him down, but in every other hormone-induced fantasy it had never quite been a situation like this before (and by situation Call means the zombie apocalypse while being held captive by said cute boy). But he was trying to hide it by turning his face away from Aaron and hoped the dimness of the closet would do the rest of the work.

There was groaning, eerily similar to the ones Call had heard in the city, but then again all zombies tended to have the same vocal range. It went on for a few long minutes and then it was just a few stragglers gurgling and stumbling to keep up. Just to be safe, Call and Aaron stayed on the ground long after the last moan dispersed.

Slowly the closet door creaked open and Havoc stuck his head in.

Aaron seemed to finally realize what he was doing because he retracted his arm like Call burnt him, standing up just as quick. He brushed down his clothes with a stiff hand and Call couldn’t tell if the redness on the back of his neck was from his subsiding anger or getting upright too quickly.

“I’m going to check on the others,” Aaron said and stepped around Havoc and through the door.

Havoc looked between the cracked door and Call, still on the ground.

“He’s overprotective, that’s it,” Call hissed as he awkwardly stood up.

Havoc would definitely be wiggling his eyebrows if he had any. Instead his tongue lolled out of his mouth and nosed at Call’s hand.

There was murmuring through the door and he could catch snippets of _need to disinfectant_ and _damn, he’s got one mean hook_ and _what are going to do with him?_

Call wasn’t a genius but even a dead-brain zombie could tell they were talking about him. And not the good kind. Honestly, Call had never had the good kind of talking behind someone’s back. He mostly just got _disruption in class_ and _liability._

Call was not going to wait around to find out what they wanted to do with him.

“You ready to bounce?” Call asked Havoc who responded with a wag of his tail.

As quietly as he could, he went over to the loose vent and peered through the cracks. It was still early morning and no zombies in sight. Perfect conditions for an escape.

Havoc, however, seemed to realize what ‘bouncing’ entailed and was currently pressing himself in the farthest corner and giving Call a very indignant look that said _absolutely not._

“Dude, come on, it’s like three seconds and then it’s over.”

Havoc pointedly sat down.

“Oh my God, I swear I am going to-”

The door swung open and Havoc jumped up, tail wagging, and Call stumbled away from the vent and put on his best not-trying-to-escape face. It didn’t seem to pass all that well from Aaron’s frown.

“What are you doing?”

Call lifted a shoulder sheepishly. “Trying to escape?”

Aaron crossed his arms over his chest and Call did _not_ look at how his biceps bulged.

“In you case you didn’t notice, there’s a horde stumbling around. If you want to be zombie bait, then escape. If you want to live, stay here and wait it out. Once the time comes, we’ll talk again.” Aaron spoke like a leader and Call found himself listening intently despite his want to brush him off. There was something inherently dominant in the way Aaron held himself and looked, shoulders squaring and jaw clenching. He was everything Call wasn’t and it made him mad.

Havoc seemed to sense his rising temper and padded over, pressing himself hard against Call’s bad leg. Aaron looked between the two of them, before slowly uncrossing his arms and his shoulders dropped. He suddenly seemed like a teenage boy stretched too thin all over again.

“Look just - I’m sorry, alright? I know that we’ve both seen some shit, good and bad, and that we’re strangers, but I’m asking you to trust me. Just a little bit. I’m going to talk to Jasper and keep him from bothering you. Just one more day until the horde is gone and we’ll get out of your hair. Okay?”

Call took a deep breath. Havoc’s tail thumped him hard in the back of his calf twice as if to say tell him _yes, dumbass._

“One more day. That’s it. I also want my bag back when I leave,” Call said, hoping his voice sounded firm enough.

Aaron hastily nodded and opened the door wider.

“Done. You want some breakfast?”

At the mention of breakfast, Havoc bounded out of the room and past an amused Aaron.

“Traitor,” Call muttered as he begrudgingly followed him. Aaron’s laugh was deep and husky and did not send shivers down Call’s back.

  
\--

The rest of the group ignored Call as they ate but that was more than fine with him. He had grinned when he saw Jasper’s bruised and bloodied face, not once ounce of remorse in his body as he swiped up a can of peaches and went back around the counter where he had been tied up before. Havoc ate his wet dog food like a slob, all wet noises and heavy breathing that made Call hiss at him to stop being gross more than once.

Call was on his second can, this one sliced oranges, when Aaron rounded the counter and offered him a half-smile.

“Room for one more?” He asked as he peeled back the top and dug his fork in.

Call shoved a spoonful into his mouth and glared hard at Aaron’s knees. “I guess.”

Aaron sat down with a gracefulness Call would never have and ate quietly. Well, as quiet as it could get with Havoc practically making love to his food.

“You know, I never got your name,” Aaron said as he set his empty can aside.

Call blinked, before realizing, no he hadn’t. Too busy being taken hostage and then hiding from a horde. 

“My name’s Callum Hunt, but everyone - my dad calls me Call.”

Aaron nodded and ran a hand through his bangs as he leaned back. He really was attractive now that Call wasn’t being tied up or pinned down because of a horde of zombies. His eyes were bright green with dark eyelashes, tanned skin and unruly blonde hair. Wide shoulders and rounded chest that was a stark difference to Call’s gangly limbs and bird-like build. And not to mention his lame leg.

“Aaron Stewart. I’m about to be eighteen on the fifteenth. What about you?”

Call felt like this was suspiciously what teenagers did at drinking parties, but then again, the only time he had ever gotten drunk was when him and his dad were holed up in an apartment while a horde passed. His leg was burning with cramps and Call was sobbing for anything to take the pain off, so his dad had shoved half a bottle of Jack down his throat to quiet him down. He had vomited the entire day after and vowed to never drink again. So, far from the typical teenage party with the red solo cups and seven minutes in heaven type of shit. 

“I’m seventeen too,” Call replied and scraped the bottom of the can with his spoon. He sucked what little juice he could and looked up to see Aaron pointedly staring at the space above Call and his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Cool, uh,” Aaron scratched at the back of his head and his eyes shifted, clearly uncomfortable. Call sighed and put his can to the side. He knew what someone looked like when they didn’t want to talk to him.

“Look, I’m fine. Don’t talk to me if you don’t want to.”

Aaron’s brow furrowed. “Why would you think I don’t want to talk to you?”

“Maybe because I beat in your friend’s face? Does that ring a bell?”

“Yeah, but we tied you up. I think it’s fair.”

Call groaned and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and then hissed as the bruises throbbed. He’d almost completely forgotten about that.

“Do you want me to look at that? To make sure your eye doesn’t get inflamed or something?” Aaron asked a little shyly as he moved closer. Havoc shot him a wary look like he was half-expecting him to pull out some zip ties, but then just went back to lying down and licking his paws. Worst guard dog ever. 

Before Call can adamantly say no, thank you very much, Aaron had already moved in front of him and cupped his face between his rough hands. There was no doubt hiding it this time around - Call was definitely blushing. His skin was practically radiating heat has Aaron tiled his head to get a better look and hummed under his breath.

“Doesn’t seem too bad, but if your eye starts giving you trouble, let me know.” Aaron’s breath was hot on Call’s jaw and _goddamn_.

Aaron started to pull back and then stopped midway, eyes suddenly widening as he seemed to realize the position they were in. A dark flush crept up the front of his neck and the tips of his ears and suddenly the hands on Call’s face were just a little clammy.

Call’s lungs had stop working. He was going to suffocate any second now because a very cute boy was holding Call’s face like he was about smooch him.

“Aaron? Can you come help us ration these?” A girl’s face carried over the store and suddenly they were both scrambling back, faces flushed and chests heaving. Call yanked up his empty can and pretended to fish out an imaginary orange slice while Aaron ran a hand through his hair and over the front of his shirt.

“Yeah, coming!”

Aaron didn’t glance back as he got up and walked off.

Havoc was staring at Call with his metaphorical eyebrows raised.

“Fuck off,” Call snapped without any real heat and held out the can so Havoc could lick it over.

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda an intro chapter where I was experimenting with writing style. If you would like me to continue, please let me know!


End file.
